[6.1] Recruits

"What’re you saying? Them creature’s buried themselves in the sewers."

"We go find them."

That elicited a round of chuckles then another said, "I went down that hole yesterday. Smelly and dark. Had to walk hunched over, no room for weapons, one at a time. All one of those things’d have’t do is run up and stab ya. Yer on yer own one-eye."

"Come on! Goblins! In Bilcoven!" Feorik exclaimed. "We can’t just let them stay there. They’ll sneak out at night, steal your children, rape your wives. Is there enough of you to keep them down there ‘round the clock?"

Another man grew red in the face and shouted, "We know the danger! What do you suggest, we sacrifice ourselves." Obviously there was frustration here, not indifference. "You got a plan? Let’s hear it."

"Just scouting. We can’t fight them until we know where they are and how many. How’d they get there, and where do they surface too," Feorik explained.

"It ain’t like we can sneak up on them. They see in the dark y’know. They know the tunnels, we’d be surrounded."

"What we need is a bunch’a dwarves."

"Legends! You live in a fantasy world Beorn."

Feorik, the frustrations of the day not yet diffused, took a long draught of his beer and looked at the group of warriors. He actually had the attention of the whole tavern at the moment. At least they were interested.

Feorik eyed the men in turn and spoke slowly and forcefully, "This is what I propose. We move as a group. Men in the center carry brands, enough light to see clearly for thirty feet in either direction. I go in front, with dagger and spear. The long weapon to stab at any goblin I see, the small weapon to gut any that get close."

Confidently Feorik continued as if he has done this before, "The man in the rear can use the same approach, and watch the back of the group to avoid us getting snuck up on. We move slow, no heroics, and we stay together. If we find ourselves in trouble, we get out of there immediately." Feorik swigged his beer, then finished, "We find out where they lair and maybe get an idea of their number. Any bounty is divided. We take the information to Derian. Who knows, that may be worth its own, separate award. Only a few hours; I know a way to avoid from getting lost. What do you say, are any of you with me? I would like three of you."

Most of the guards listening nearby grumbled that this was foolishness, shaking their heads and dismissing the crazy one-eyed Watcher. Disappointed Feorik went to the bar and got himself another drink. Shuffling behind him made him turn. Four young guards had approached him. They were sitting at a nearby table, not Feorik’s first choice as these inexperienced guards were years younger that even Feorik. "A good age to be watching the walls, but not much else."

"We’d like to go, sir," one of them addressed. Quite an air of authority I presented, though Feorik as he looked them over. He heard the older men snickering among themselves and it obviously bothered the boys. "Our arms our strong and fast," their spokesman said in defense.

Feorik eyed the youngsters over.
"Well, men, I would be glad to have any among you watch my back." Feorik looked them each over in turn. "And don't worry about them," Feorik inclined his head toward the snickering guards. "But this isn't going to be simple, or at all pleasant. The sewers are dark, and cramped, and smell like shit. Getting lost may be deadly down there. Also," Feorik's voice becoming a growl, "one man loses his head underground in panic, and he may cost everyone their head. Think it over, each of you. I appreciate your spirit to kill these goblin scum...it warms my heart. I'll be in the corner a little while longer, think it over and let me know if you still want to come."

"When do you want to go?"

"In a few hours. We will be in and out before night falls." Feorik eyed the young boys, lowered his voice, "depending on how things go tonight; I may go back down tomorrow. Keep that amongst yourselves, if you please, men." Feorik smiled grimly as he ordered a third beer and retreated to an unoccupied corner, where he sat in silent contemplation while waiting their decision.

The four discussed the matter awhile before two of them approached Feorik again. "Deein here, and this is Tulane." They both exchanged strong handshakes with the ranger.

"Feorik," Feorik returned the handshakes. "It is good to meet you both.

"Cobel and Zeke are on duty later so they can’t go today. What do we need to do?"

"For now, nothing. Keep this quiet, although you may want to inform your families that you are going underground. Tell Cobel and Zeke to keep it quiet as well."

"I will be at the Inn until late afternoon, where hopefully I can get another to join us. Then I will return here for you two. Please be here, I won't have time to go looking for you. Any other questions?" They shook their heads.

Feorik went to the Inn to have his dinner and prepare to interview anyone responding to his posting. While he ate, he was approached by a few timid children years younger than himself. As he finished his meal, a well-dressed man separated from the other supping patrons and sat next to Feorik.

"You are just going to get children like that, or bums like that," he said indicating a dirty man being pointed in his direction by an irritated looking innkeeper. "I can supply perhaps more suitable men. Men accustomed to danger." The drunk approached Feorik and looked at his guest, then turned and left fearfully. Feorik quickly looked to this obviously recognized man only to see his smiling face looking pleasantly back at him. "Tell me, what enterprise are you proposing?"

Feorik regarded this individual before replying. He sat back and sipped the watery ale slowly and did not reply for several moments. "I am Feorik," he extended a hand. "I am sorry, but I do not know your name."

"Gyllick," the thin man gave him a very firm handshake.

Feorik thought, There is something about this man. "My proposed business has to do with clearing some vermin. You say you can supply men. Good. I need but one for two or three hours, today. How much coin do you want?"

"My man gets his share. But I would not send them into danger without making sure the risk is worthwhile. Clearing vermin from Mayor Erlin’s basement is quite different than clearing vermin from say, the sewers."

Feorik kept his tone neutral and matter-of-fact. He could be talking about the price of cabbages at the local market. "I am entering the sewers, where there may well be danger. Any men you provide should be capable of defending themselves. If this kind of work is too risky, I understand." Feorik leaned back and sipped his beer again. He could say more, but he refrained from revealing his plans. For some reason, Feorik does not like this man overmuch. He tries his best to hide it, but having spent more time alone in the woods or with animals than with people in his brief life, he probably did not hide it well.

"I assume the bounty and whatever of value you find with the thieving creatures will be split. I’ve got a good one to help you. Consider any advice he has, he has been in the sewers before. Where shall Cobern meet you?"

"Any bounty will be split equally. If there is anything of value down there," Feorik's tone is dubious, "then that will be split as well. Tell this Cobern fellow to meet me here...in, say, a half-hour? How shall I recognize him?"

"Not to worry, he shall recognize you," Gyllick said as he suddenly stood and gave a slight but flourished bow. Gyllick left the inn and Feorik.

Feorik stood and watched him go then strode out of the inn himself. He returned to Ingil's, to purchase a bolt of soft cloth. In a hurry, with little mood to haggle, Feorik paid the asking price then went to the tavern where the four guards still waited. They had retrieved armor and weapons, spears and short swords. Feorik signaled Deein and Tulane to approach, "Let us go to my room for preparations. There are things we should discuss as well."

Feorik lead them out into the square and down an alley to enter the inn through a side door near the privy. Upstairs in the room, Feorik assembled the equipment on the sleeping pallet: cloth, a trio of well-wrapped torches, candles, extra flint, chalk, twine, and lard. The young guards looked on interestedly.

"First, the sewers will be dark, thus the need for brands. Here, take them. Your main job will be to carry them. It is a very important job." Feorik's voice was fierce, "Remember that a flaming torch can be as effective a weapon as any. Rats fear flame, perhaps goblins do as well. Regardless of what happens, do not drop them."

As they took the torches and flints, Feorik cut the soft white cloth into strips over the razor sharp blade of his hand axe. "These strips we will tie around our noses and mouths. Hopefully, that will minimize the smell. The chalk I will use to mark our position, the twine we will trail out behind us." Feorik motioned to the large, heavy bundle of thin rope, "I have about one thousand feet of it, hopefully that will be enough."

Feorik motioned to the lard and candles. "Grease for our scabbards and wax for our boots. The wetness down there will be distracting, but that is not the main concern. Iron weapons can pit quickly, and cold feet lead to sickness." With that, Feorik greased his sword blade, and slide it in and out of the scabbard until it was firmly lubricated. He sloughed off some of the fat for the other two to use similarly. He coated his spear tip and hand axe as well. Then he lit several candles and used their flame to melt others down, using the wax to coat the uppers of their footwear.

While he worked, he spoke, "I have also spoken to a man named Gyllick." Feorik watched the two for any reaction; they did exchange glances. "A man of his, Cobern, will join us. Now I do not trust him as well as I do you." Feorik shrugged, "I do not know why, it is just a feeling. This Cobern fellow will be at our backs, keep an eye on him. Supposedly he's been in the sewers before."

"I’ll not doubt that. Gyllick runs most of the Low Quarter."

Feorik eyed the two boys, "Any final questions, men?" Feorik could tell they were nervous, but they shook their heads. All preparations done, Feorik and his two young charges left the Inn by the side entrance.

"Wait here," he commanded them as he entered the Inn proper. Cobern was in the barroom downstairs, and he approached Feorik with a fake smile. He was mean looking, about Feorik's age, of average height, a thin build, and very short hair. He seemed well equipped, with leather armor, boots, and gloves; all covered with a cloak. Feorik's appraising glance spied a short sword and dagger at his belt, and a crossbow and quiver on a strap over his shoulder.

Feorik introduced himself quickly, and gestured to Cobern to exit to the street. There he introduced the youngsters and explained to Cobern what he intended the group to accomplish that afternoon. Feorik mentioned that he was interested in entering the sewers by the least messy route, at which Cobern smiled (which reminded Feorik of a rat's grin) and quickly motioned the trio to follow.
 

[2.3a] The Sale

The road was a welcome sight after the grim excitement of the Town of Bilcoven. The caravan bumped along headed west through the autumn fields around the town. Before they entered the forest again, they passed a small trail leading north. A skull rested in a carved niche of a crooked tree proclaiming the destination of the path.

Beckoning to the Lieutenant of the guard, Sirilyr whispered lowly to the mounted man as he rode near. "Jack, that way lead to the town cemetery? If'n I wanted to hide somethin' for awhile, I can'no think o' a better place to let it rest and cool down than a buryin' ground."

"I was thinking the same. Another place to go upon our return."

As they neared the forest a few miles west of town they passed a fork in the road marked by a signpost with arrows reading "Dir 1 day" and "Sola 1 day". They followed the northwest arrow to Sola. The town on the hill disappeared behind as the trees of the northern forest enclosed the caravan. Toward mid-day the wooded terrain became hilly and rugged reminiscent of the Gnash.

The trees soon thinned a bit leaving scenic vistas of rugged hills and clinging vegetation. This was Bilcoven's wineland. It was not well received in the south, generally not considered delicate or subtle. It served its purpose for the Bilcovs though, and none of the newcomers had had any problems with its qualities. A few flocks of sheep in the hills as they neared Sola.

As slow as the trio moved along the road to Sola, the oxen moved slower. The late afternoon brought Pradareus to the top of a rise where Spencer glimpsed the caravan winding up the steep path across a stream’s shallow valley. Strangely it seemed Jack was already looking across at them. Perhaps it was imagination. The three rejoined the caravan atop the opposite hill. Sirilyr hallooed their coming back up the line of the caravan, and waved as the hard riding trio wisked by to report in.

Sola was a picturesque town nestled in sparsely wooded, rocky hills. Most of the buildings were clustered along a dry streambed that formed a shallow gorge dividing the town. A rugged but palatial structure overlooked the village from a hilltop. The hillside was crisscrossed with paths through a plush terraced vineyard. The whole place was surrounded with a stone wall tall enough to keep out trespassers, or raiders. An iron gate impeded access from the village at the base of the hill.

Spencer gently nudged Sleene to awaken her, saying "We've arrived." It wasn't hard at all to get used to riding beside Sleene. Spencer couldn't deny his attraction to her beauty. She woke with the start of one who isn't quite sure where they are or how they got there. Arrived? Where am I? she thought before it started coming back to her.

"Sleene, I should apologize for that outburst back there...it was said in frustration. My words were chosen poorly."

Sleene considered Spencer's words a moment, her groggy mind struggling to recall just what event he was referring to. Slowly, the morning's events returned to focus. "Perhaps is was nothing more than disappointment that colored your words. Future actions will tell your character far better." She stretched and lithely slipped from the horse.

"Mmm," Spencer groaned frowning slightly and turning his head to look around obviously not really interested in Sleene's appraisal.

"I am quite grateful for the ride. I feel much better than before." Looking back at Sleene, Spencer nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Did you see any signs of my friends...rather, the wolves I travel with?"

"No, I didn't. I expect you'll see them when we return." Despite all the druidics he'd seen and all his conversations with Georan, Spencer still can't accept the mystical and magical. In fact, it troubled him to no end.

A small entourage met the caravan on its way into town. It consisted of Stellan, Dricka, Sola’s mayor, his constable, the blacksmith, a shopkeeper, and few silent commoners. They greeted Durrant and while the pleasantries were being exchanged Sleene wandered back along the trail and called out to her wolves, not shy about barking and yipping into the darkening woods. Sola’s welcoming party accompanied the caravan to the village leaving her behind.

After calling for the wolves, Sleene waited for a few minutes in the gathering dusk listening to the night sounds building in volume. After some minutes she turned resignedly back towards town just as the welcoming party was breaking up. Seeing that the others have already chosen their tasks, and having nothing specifically to do herself, Sleene accompanied Wendell and Cecilia caring for the animals. She gave them a cursory examination in the process, paying special attention to Pradereus. "It was kind of Spencer to give me a ride after all," Sleene thought. After they finished, curiosity about Goblins pestered her, but she not knowing how to gather more information she went to the tavern.

While the large carts were crowded into the warehouse, Spencer wordlessly led Pradareus to the stables next door. The warehouse smelled of dusty wood and sweet wine. Barrels of all sizes were stacked throughout the dark interior and accompanied with a stern warning not to sample the merchandise. There was a large loft above with a couple sleeping areas sectioned off. Sirilyr dropped his bedroll just to the right of the ladder. He preferred to be near it, so he could hear any noise it might make should a guest try and sneak up it in the dark of night.

Durrant, Jack, Dricka, and Stellan went off to the mansion on the hill with the Mayor. The rest of the group went to sup at the tavern, which was formerly a large home just outside the village proper, leaving Dolan on duty and Wendell and Cecilia taking care of the animals. Inside was warm and fragrant. Talon and Kort greeted their companions heartily and a bit drunkenly. There was a fair size crowd in the place; Talon had done an excellent job entertaining and rousing interest with locals in the caravan from the south. Now he eagerly pestered Sirilyr and Karod about the fresh wounds. Kort too, "Having all the fun without me were ya! I can’t let you two alone. Come on, what happened?"

Karod, trying not to speak too loudly, tells Talon and Kort that the warehouse was attacked last night by goblins and that Sirilyr defeated most. Kort not appreciating the possible intrigue surrounding the whole affair blurted out, "Goblins?!" attracting anyone’s attention who was not already eavesdropping.

"Don’t sell yer’self short Karod ol’ friend. He lopped of head and did his share of carving," Sirilyr announced. Ending his statement with a wink to Karod and a, "Ye did well laddie, I'm glad ye came on when ye did, or I might not be standin' here for ye to buy me a cup!"

There was no stopping the tale then. The caravan from the Town of Bilcoven was heralding the news of the goblin attack to the villagers of Sola. Spencer, looking disinterested as usual, left the inn. He left, and Sleene came in a few minutes later. Sirilyr told the story, revealed his bandaged wound, and generally made quite a show of himself. He and Karod who was also pulled into the frivolity of exposing his bandages were paid handsomely with the local wine. Talon kept the crowd hyped as he reminded them of the heroic battle tale he spun for the previous night. "You see, you are truly in the presence of heroes."

Sirilyr lightly nudged Karod in the ribs, with a low intoned, "We're gon'na half'ta muzzle Talon afore he has us facin' down the whole gobbo nation!"

"They may be needin’ heroes up in Tir," came a voice loud with drink. An older man, dressed in woodsman’s garb, pushed his way through the crowd standing around the injured story teller. He looked sternly at the men then said, "Bah. Yer jus’ kids." He turned away.

Talon spoke up taking offense for the two guards, "You should know sir these are veterans of the Goblin War. I’ve seen their valor in battle myself!"

Looking back to the small Talon who moved next to him he replied, "I’d not take’m with me into the woods out there."

"And why’s that?" Talon continued to stand up to the man for the warriors before they could reply. "They’re young and strong. A match for any wild beast."

"Three bands of hunters hain’t returned yet. That’s sixteen men of solid stock and years of experience," he glared at the seated young warriors. "Missin’ are a few Watcher’s too. I can’t find no one to go into the woods that ain’t fools." He walked backed to his table, downed a last swallow and left the room.

The young ranger laughed as the old woodsman left for the door, "Hah! Now ye see what ye did! Ye made me halfta go pee! An’ on this game leg too. The least ye can do is hold the door fer me." Showing absolutely no fear of the elder man, Sirilyr hopped to the door. The old hunter let the door close. Sirilyr cursed and went outside where he approached the old hunter. "Perhaps, it is I who'd not trapse 'bout the dark wood with the likes o' you. Although, me mother raised me to polite to say so." The man had pulled himself out for a pee while Sirilyr spoke. As if in defense Sirilyr did the same, "You've the look o' the land 'bout ye, if ye change yore mind 'bout needin' company 'fore ye go. Ye kin find me in the loft over yonder," pointing to the building which served as the caravan's home during their stay. The man walked away without a word.

Inside, a local man said that the old one was a hunter who had come into Sola from Tir this afternoon with another man, a Watcher, also from Tir. Apparently the last three bands of hunters have not returned, nor have the Watchers sent to find them. No one will go with him to look for his missing comrades so he and the Watcher are going to Bilcoven to seek aide. The rumor is that goblins have come out of the hills.

"Watcher? What’s a Watcher?" Georan asked.

The guy looked around, "Hmm, I guess he left." Some of the other folks claimed he was just there. "They’re local woodsman, kind of an Order. Not religious or anything, but ordained by the March to keep watch in the woods for danger. Every village has a few."

The encounter lead to some stories the locals had about their own town being raided. But to the best of the newcomers’ understanding these were tales of long ago passed down as a matter of local pride. They were entertaining legends nonetheless. While the tales were told, Georan found someone who had seen the Watcher and asked what he looked like. He was told he wore a dark green cloak over skins, bushy brown hair and beard. "Think ‘is name was Durin." Eventually the stories came to end and the locals found their way home leaving Sirilyr, Tarod, Talon, Kort, Georan, and Sleene to make their way from tavern to the warehouse.

Spencer tried to forget about the goblins for the time being; the whole business had been all he could think about. So, as much as he was looking forward to a relaxing after the long ride, he departed the tavern as soon as he'd finished his meal. He needed a good stretch after sitting on his horse all day anyway. Spencer took a walk around town in the evening twilight. Sola was pastoral compared to the sagging dirty Bilcoven. The village was no more than a dozen or so structures of a variety of styles from sturdy wooden craft shops to crude huts. They spread up a gentle slope to the south of the shallow ravine separating the village from the vineyard and mayor’s palace.

It was pleasantly noisy and fresh smelling. Spencer greeted folks and was greeted as he strode through the streets. His familiar clothing obviously helping take some of the edge of meeting strangers. He spoke to a chandler going home from his sweet smelling shop. After Spencer told him was in from Bilcoven with a caravan heading up to Tir, the fellow told Spencer he heard about some sort of trouble up there; a couple of men had come through on their was to get help from the March.

Spencer sought more detail, trying to sound friendly, "Trouble? What sort of trouble? Nothing I should worry about, I hope!"

"Something about missing hunters and Watchers. Not to worry if you aren’t going traipsing into the woods."

"That is not entirely comforting," Spencer stated and took his leave with a nod and a smile.

The people seemed much more at ease here than at any of the places Spencer had traveled recently. Spencer continued his walk and noted the buildings and any signs they had posted. As he neared the foot of the hill, his eye caught a familiar symbol painted on a door in an attached row of businesses. There were no words, just the symbol of a pine tree and a bow. It took a moment for Spencer to remember that he had seen the same symbol on an otherwise unremarkable building in Bilcoven. It wasn’t a store, probably a guildhall or something. No light escaped the closed shutters on either floor. An unlit candle hung next to the place. Although not dark yet, the sun was setting so whatever the place was, Spencer moved on deciding to come back some other time.

The street ended at the ravine where a week wooden fence protected against accident. From its state, it was obvious that it had caught many carts and wagons in its day. The ravine was only ten or so feet deep. A stream ran pleasantly at its bottom. Spencer followed the fence toward the bridge and iron gate beyond. As he approached a cloaked man, it had gotten too dark to make out colors, came down the hill and addressed the guards at the bridge. They let the man pass. When Spencer came up, they asked him if he had business with the mayor.

The thought of entering the mayor's house had not occurred to him; on a whim, Spencer quickly began contriving a story that would get him in. Just as he convinced himself he could pull it off, he recalled Durrant's words about anonymity and acting the part of a caravan. "Not I, good sir," Spencer said after his short hesitation, "Just out for an evening stroll."

"A beautiful evening it is. Nice and warm today."

Spencer continued on his way, feeling even more frustrated after his encounter with the guard. His hunger for information is larger than his patience; somehow he felt like he just missed an opportunity, though his good sense tells him otherwise.

Unable to escape his worries, and lacking for anything better to do, Spencer decided to sit down and watch over the town for a while. He walked up the hill, searching for somewhere he could linger without drawing attention. Appreciative of the beauty of their town, the Solans had erected a shrine toward the top of their hillside town. About the decorated wooden structure were several benches. Spencer seated himself back to the shrine and looked over the village.

It was a beautiful scene. Occasional firelight illuminated the homes down the hillside, but the mansion across the way was a magnificent structure. In the deepening twilight the many-leveled building’s many windows glowed warming from within. Spencer saw someone moving down the winding trail through the vineyard toward the gate lighting lanterns that swayed in the cool evening breeze. The man passed the hooded figure moving up the hill. Not exactly comforted by that hooded fellow, Spencer watched him climb and enter through the main doors.

Spencer sighed tried to enjoy his time alone. In more ways than one, this journey has done nothing but upset Spencer, and that annoyed him; as a rolling snowball grows, so his disquiet agitated him further. He tried to find comfort in the gentle nighttime bustle of this small town. He soon lost track of time, and only the activity off to his right brought him back from his thoughts. People were leaving the tavern. He watched them for awhile then saw his comrades also heading toward the warehouse. He stood and walked from the shrine to join them.

As he prepared for rest, Sirilyr found a wax sealed clay pot in his pack. Inside, was a sweet smelling, oily liquid. Sirilyr looked to the dusty floorboards and could not identify any tracks revealing his gifter. The wounded man thought out loud, "Well now, what have we here?" He tasted the substance, the oily floating on top had the sweet taste and smell, but the liquid beneath was only slightly more flavorful than water. Sirilyr had quaffed a similar potion after being wounded what seemed to be long ago during a battle of the Goblin War. Durrant has made good, but how? Did Sirilyr sleep on the way? Perhaps. Assuming the potion was as expected, he drank down the contents with the quiet quip, "A short life but a merry one!" And turned in to his bed, sword and ax by one side and Feint snoring contentedly by another. As he gave in to sleep, the throbbing pain began to subside. When he awoke, his wounds had sealed, although a bit tender to the touch.

The next morning, as usual, Sleene awoke about two hours before dawn, refreshed after a much-needed comfortable rest, even if it was under a roof. She went to the stables, found a quiet area, and performed her morning meditations. After her meditations, she went briefly to the edge of the woods to call the wolves. She waited a few minutes without hearing or seeing them. Sleene returned to the warehouse just as the others were pulling the carts out of the warehouse. Curious, she watched the setup a bit, and seeing most of the group dispersing, Sleene sought the absent Spencer.

Stellan had roused a crew early to help prepare for the first sale of the metal and metalware Durrant had dragged so far. Stellan fastidiously unfastened sections, unfurled brightly colored canopies, and prepared barrels, tables, and displays of finished goods. The raw metals were left in storage for blacksmiths to observe in bulk. It was a warm day for the time of year and every soul in the village passed by to peruse the products brought to them from so far and by such heroes. Talon spent the day roaming the streets calling attention to the "big event" going on.

Georan looked distracted in the morning, Sirilyr noticed him start off on his own while the carts were being hauled to the square. "Where you off to Geo? Had enough of those books eh?" Sirilyr asked getting his attention. In truth he had. He had spent his spare moments pouring through every page. He indeed felt better prepared, perhaps more mature was an apt term. But now he craved action. If there was something powerful here, Georan wanted to find it.

"I thought I’d look for the old woodsman or his ‘Watcher’ friend. Perhaps after a night’s sleep he’ll be more receptive."

"Hmm, not a bad idea. Hope ‘is buddy’s a bit more polite. I’ll come with ya." They wandered down the sloping streets of the hillside village. There was no inn, but an early rising goodwife, despite her suspicious eyes, pointed them to a non-descript section of a row of businesses, the door with the pine and bow. They thanked her kindly, and went to the door. They knocked and heard a greeting from within inviting them in. Inside were five men, including the man from the bar. He still looked upset. He was the oldest of this crowd too.

"Welcome," claimed a man standing at the table the group had gathered around. He was in his twenties, older than Sirilyr but not near as grizzled as the gruff hunter. "You with the merchant?" It was more a statement than a question, but they nodded.

"Beowert said something about meddling kids," said another seated man. "Come, name’s Durin. You are heading to Tir I gather. This here’d interest you." Sirilyr and Georan approached the table where a couple younger men scooted their chairs out of the way so they could see. It was a leather map of the western Marchy showing Sola and Tir. It was old and decaying with holes. Durin traced the road between the villages. "That’s where you’re going. Just to let you know, there’s nothing to worry about near the village or along the road to Ziret." He traced another road to the eastern edge.

"The missing hunters were way up here." He pointed to the northwest section of the map where the details were few. Making an astute observation, Georan asked why they were so far out. The question elicited an odd exchange of glances between the Watchers. "Game is scarce," Durin announced as if it were a secret. They did not divulge many details about the situation, only that the forest had been over-hunted.

Georan offered his help, eliciting a snort from Beowert. "We can handle it kid, just need a few more men from Bilcoven."

Georan taking slight offense stated, "The help of a mage is not often refused despite his youth. I think we can help."

The men stared at him. Finally Durin spoke, "I have spoken with Durrant last night. I’m not sure he would be so willing to spare you. However, if you can convince him, see Delak in Tir. He’s the only Watcher there." Durin and Beowert gathered their gear and set out for the Town of Bilcoven. Obviously uncomfortable around Georan Sola’s watchers quietly fidgeted. Sirilyr, sensing the tension, thanked them for their time and took their leave as well.

They checked in at the market periodically, keeping their eyes out for pick-pockets and shop-lifters. The rest of the day involved several trips to the tavern and wandering the town with the other guards. Talon even hauled them around as spectacles for awhile. It got to a point later in the day that it was mostly children Talon was attracting as all the adults had been by the display.

Spencer was completely uninterested in the sale and had stayed staring at the ceiling listened as the oxen pulled the heavy loads to the small market square. He noticed that Sleene was not present; she must have gone off to look for her wolves. He pulled his papers out and stared at them. He was almost as uninterested in his maps as he was in the sale going on. As far as Spencer knew he had all winter to do his maps. Nevertheless, he had automatically scouted the terrain and noted directions on his way to Sola, so he jotted down all he could remember, the beginnings of a map.

About the time he had enough of staring at the paper trying to keep his mind focused, Sleene poked her head into the loft. "There you are," she announced. "I have no great desire to stay in town for the day but neither do I think it safe to be roaming the woods alone at this time. Since my friends have not returned yet, perhaps we could explore a bit near town today. You could get information for your maps and perhaps I will find some herbs I need. What do you say?"

"I was just thinking I need you to help name some of this landmarks, but it can wait. A bit of air and walk in the woods sounds good to me."

Sleene smiled with warm relief. "Which direction?"

Outside and clear of the buildings, Spencer searched the landscape. Finding a point of relatively high altitude, he pointed to it. "Let's head over there." The course chosen lead the pair by the shrine overlooking Sola and the mayor’s palace.

As they walked, Sleene asked Spencer of his work and how one goes about actually mapping an area, her natural curiosity finally taking over in full. "Well, first of all, you have to know what direction you're facing," Spencer explained, casually scanning the flora himself. "You also need to be good at judging distances. Without those two things, you can't do anything useful. After that, the key is points of reference. If you know you're at A, and you can see B and C at some distance and direction from where you're standing, then you're set. You just have to travel and compare your landmarks as you go. I can teach you, if you want."

Surprisingly, Sleene looked a bit flustered at this offer. Stumbling over her words for a moment, she finally replied, "Actually, I carry maps in my head. I have a good memory and an excellent sense of direction." She paused and then blurted, "A moment…" then moved off to gather a few nuts from a tree and did not return to the subject. She looked around constantly for useful herbs or signs of distress in the surroundings. They both observed an abundance here compared to the general scarcity of useful plant life around the Town of Bilcoven. Sleene managed to collect plenty nuts and grains. What she didn’t snack on went into he pouch. As she found things of interest, she mentioned them to Spencer: trees that were not dormant despite the late autumn, empty squirrel nests. Occasionally as they walked, she called to the wolves figuring that the sound may travel to their keen ears by some chance of the wind and topography.

Spencer flinched each time she called, "I would trade all my knowledge of mapping - and more - to understand you and Georan." Georan is the only reason Spencer didn't write off Sleene as a psychotic. Sleene stopped suddenly and looked hard at Spencer, her laughing eyes suddenly gone hard and penetrating as if they were somehow looking for something inside Spencer.

After studying him for a moment, she seemed to come to a decision and said, "In truth, I would gladly trade some of my knowledge to learn some of what you know. Your offer to teach me of mapping earlier caught me by surprise since it involves skills that I have only recently begun to value. The task may be harder than you believe, however. I know nothing of reading or writing and such is necessary to label maps and record journeys. If, however, you are willing to teach me of these things, I am willing to teach you of my...ways for lack of a better word."

"What's mine is yours," Spencer reassured her. "Reading and writing are not so common. Most people, including pure druidics, have little use of such skills."

Sleene thought on this for a few seconds before answering, "True, but recording in some more or less permanent way cannot be less than truly useful. As for Georan, I also don't believe that he and I are so different. We simply...well...we take different paths in the same valley. I think that perhaps understanding one of us will give insight into the other."

"Perhaps," said Spencer, having postulated this himself. Georan's powers seem much more methodical, however. Though Spencer did not understand, Georan was confident and adamant that his art can be taught concretely.

Sleene turned slightly to look at the surrounding trees and listening for...well...listening. Seeing her distracted again, Spencer, spotting an excellent tree for climbing, veered towards it, saying "Look at that." He took off his sack and laid down his staff. "I love to climb trees." He began to ascend the trunk with a nimbleness seldom matched. When he reached the top he spotted Sola in the distance as he judged the ground they've covered. "You say you've never left the Marchy? Looking at this scenery, who could blame you? Sola's country is beautiful." She did not notice his look of surprise, but Spencer stared through the colored leaves at two wolves sniffing the ground and heading in their direction.

As if from a distance, Spencer heard Sleene from the ground below, "Yes, this land is fair. There are other lands, however, and other sights, other creatures, other trees. I love this place but I would still see others if I could." He looked down to see her watching him.

"Why 'if I could?'" Spencer asked, as he swung and jumped his way down from the tree from a height Sleene considered dangerous. "There's nothing stopping you from going wherever you like."

With a sigh, Sleene replied, "I am not in the best graces of my elders and I have much to learn. For the moment, I am needed here and here I will remain until I am no longer needed. Something is disrupting the natural balance here and it appears that it is becoming a part of my task to find what it is."

Spencer landed on the forest floor with hardly a sound. "Come this way. I think you'll find this to your liking." Spencer lead her southeast, where just over a slight rise, Nip and Snap were sniffing their way toward Sleene. They caught her scent and bounded in her direction. Sleene burst into smile, dropped her staff, and moved to greet them. As normal, their greeting involved a bit of play and wrestling, with the wolves pushing the slight Sleene around seemingly at will. Nevertheless, all were happy and the activity is clearly playful.

As Sleene greeted the wolves, she took the opportunity to surreptitiously examine them for wounds. They were taking good care of themselves, but Sleene noticed their ribs prominent beneath their coats. Concerned she stood and settled them. Having forgotten Spencer for the moment, she turned to him. He was nervous, not usual for humans around Nip and Snap, standing back a safe distance from them. He and inquired as to whether they will tolerate him coming close.

"Well, they don't see you as a threat but neither are you a part of their pack. I should tell you that Nip and Snap are not my pets nor do I control them in any way. We communicate in a very rudimentary way and I consider them as friends. I suppose the consider me to be a part of their pack. They do, however, tolerate people well, although being in groups makes them nervous. As they saw us approach together, I believe that they will permit you to come to them. Perhaps, however, it would be better if we came to you."

Sleene approached him and her staff, tugging their ears when the held back. Petting and talking with them, Sleene brought the panting canines to Spencer. They sat and stared at Spencer while Sleene retrieved her staff. Spencer looked at them closely. The were fine animals, a bit dirty and a lot smelly. They did not seem so dangerous with their tongues hanging out the sides of their smiling mouths.

Sleene sighed and said, "You wanted some information for your maps. I suppose we should head back to town." Reluctantly Sleene turned back towards town. They took a lower route back, skirting the hill they climbed to the west. They came upon a ring of stones along the stream the flowed through Sola. Curious, Spencer detoured to have a look. They were very old hewn blocks mostly buried in the dirt. Spencer noticed a few other blocks scattered throughout the trees. He asked Sleene about them.

She told him they were all that remained of the "Old Ones," the elves that lived here long ago. The Marchy was filled with such things. She told him, knowing his skepticism, that most people stayed away from them thinking them filled with spirits that would summon mischievous sprites to make their lives miserable. Others thought that if they left offerings, the summoned sprites would help them. Spencer explored the area for awhile and didn’t encounter any spirits or sprites, not even sprite droppings; although he did find the dried remains of flowers and other plants within the circle. It had been some time since anyone asked for the help of sprites. They returned to the village where Spencer saw the strange door. He pointed it out and asked Sleene about it. "That’s the Watcher’s symbol. Their office; but often they are out in the woods. Every village has one."

"Watchers?" Spencer inquired further.

"Oh yeah, you were off on your own last night," Sleene recalled with a smile. "There was this rude old hunter from Tir who called Durrant’s guards ‘kids’. Anyway, he was going to Bilcoven with one of Tir’s Watchers, so everyone else found out about Watchers then. They are the Marchion’s eyes in the woods," Sleene bugged her eyes out comically. Then she stopped and looked at Spencer seriously, "Did you hear? There’s been hunters gone missing in Tir, Watchers too."

Durrant had appeared later in the morning after the panoply had been assembled. He uncharacteristically apologized for his tardiness to Stellan obviously unhappy with whatever caused his delay. Despite the activity, by the end of the day, not much had been sold of the finished goods. The local blacksmith bought a good amount of raw iron and bit of other metals. He supposed himself a tinkerer in alloys and claimed he had made the hardest sword in the Marchy. "Cleave one of yer blades clean in two." Of course he sold it to a merchant named Delmen many years ago and hadn’t been able to get the steel just right since.

Spencer and Sleene approached the busy display upon their return to the village proper. Spencer noticed Durrant’s relatively high spirits. He waited a moment to catch the man when he didn’t have a bauble in the face of some villager. "Well?" Spencer says.

"Ah yes my ever impatient friend. There is indeed benefit to small town life. I’ve got some news for us tonight," he said quickly and quietly then added loudly, "Run along, that head of yours is scaring away my customers!" Durrant laughed with the small crowd standing around the displays. Spencer and Sleene went to the loft and worked on recording her knowledge of the road. As they worked, Spencer started teaching her about the letters he used.

Although unhappy with the days take that Stellan busily counted, Durrant was in generally good spirits. He spent the evening in the tavern celebrated the first sale with his companions of many weeks. He explained the Tir was a much smaller place, but the plan was the same. That and the rumors of danger in the woods around Tir, made him decide that his four heralds would stay with the caravan. Although Dricka announced he would have to leave in the morning.

As they walked back to the warehouse, all but abstinent Sleene at least slightly inebriated, Sirilyr held the older druid back behind the rest. Sirilyr asked, "Dricka, it was suggested to me that ye might know a wee bit o' goblin. Do ye?"

"Well, not I. Goblins are not common here, in fact not many of any of their ilk. The folk here would certainly sooner kill them on sight than deliver them for questioning." Sirilyr wondered if that somehow applied to his actions. "However, there are those that may know, and I may be seeing them soon. Did your prisoner speak to you?

Sirilyr repeated the words still ringing in his head spoken by his captured guest in the warehouse that bloody night in Bilcoven, "’Algut de zarug een!’ it shouted. Then ‘Deen karrat agute jared!’"

Dricka too repeated the words then said, "They shall stay with me."

Once to the warehouse, Durrant left Kort and Dolan guarding the lower level of Sola's wine store. He gathered the rest in the loft. "What I have is small, but encouraging. I thank whatever foul business is happening in Tir for allowing the subject to come up so easily. According to the hospitable, portly, Mayor, of all the Marchy poor Tir is plagued with problems worst. Perhaps there's a bit of a local rivalry, but he was quite glad to elaborate on the woes of that place." Durrant passed a bottle of wine.

"Tir's home to loners. Black sheep of the Marchy. Home base to hunters, trappers, herders, and a well-known tanner and furrier. Probably made that getup Spencer's decked out in." Indeed Spencer has donned the local garb.

"Anyway, it wasn't the stories of Tir that struck me, although some of them involved some curious implication of arcane mystery. What the Mayor happened to mention was that he had a similar conversation several years ago with another merchant," he caught everyone's eye, "from the south."

Searching his memory, Spencer put in, "Didn't the blacksmith mention a merchant named Delman, or something to that effect? Maybe he knows something."

"He couldn't remember the name or how many years it had been, except that it was before the famine. The similarity of the situations got my attention too, and I prodded further. I think our man passed through here."

"Not the merchant, but with him. The Mayor recalled that the merchant had asked him about dangerous places in the Marchy, places shunned, places of ill repute. Of course the Mayor elaborated on Tir then as well. I asked if he had seen the merchant since. He has not. I mentioned that not many merchants come from beyond the Valley and got him to describe the man and his come, lest I recognize them," Durrant winked and swigged the bottle that came back round to him.

"He described a caravan of four or so standard wagons, nothing like our behemoths. But he also described a cloaked man, one he assumed to be a protective mage, except this one was much older than most wizards in such employ," he smiled and passed the wine to Georan. "Small, but encouraging. If we can keep finding hints along this very trail. For the Mayor said he too was 'making the circuit.'" Durrant sat back, "Damn Sirilyr, your infernal puffing is making my mouth water. Give me a puff!" He savored a mouthful of the pleasant weed. "Although I doubt such information will drop as freely into our laps," Durrant said passing the pipe back.

Georan passed the wine without drinking. "Perhaps we should spend a little more time around Tir than planned. We could pretend we had a broken wheel or some other mishap with the wagons that would cause us to stay there more time for repairs. In the meantime we could look around and see if we can learn anything about the mysterious mage or the disappearing hunters."

Seeing some curious looks, Georan explained, "We spoke to Durin, and the grump, Beowert, from last night. They are off to Bilcoven to seek aid, but the Watcher’s here showed us the region where they’ve disappeared. It’s northwest, more than a day off the road."

"He's right," Spencer agreed. "If Tir's being harrassed it could be of importance to us." Turning to Georan, "Tell us more about where they're disappearing."

"They didn’t tell us much, only where, not even when."

"Let us wait and see this Tir. I don’t like the sound of the place from what the Mayor has told me last night. But perhaps they know something that leads them so far off," Durrant conceded.
 

[2.3c] Darvian comes to Bilcoven

The village of Ziret was a welcome sight after three days of steady walking through rugged wooded hills west of Mascen. The passed few months had been a different life for Darvian. Hours of delicate work in his father’s workshop and the untold reams of scrolls and books he read for Delmen were no preparation for life on the road. He had always enjoyed exploring and camping out, but being out there day after day with a handful of companions he did not know and did not much like, had curtailed most of his wanderlust.

Delmen told him he would need to get to see more of the world, and he had arranged with one of his captains to take Darvian along as an assistant. Captain Arnough was friendly enough, but his guards were suspicious of Darvian; and probably rightfully so. Arnough kept Darvian close, but he was not a talkative man so Darvian felt out of place and alone most of the time.

Thus he had come to Ziret, the first in a ring of five villages and towns that comprised the Marchion’s province. Ziret was smaller than Mascen had once been. They approached the village just after noon. A palisade surrounded the tightly packed buildings of the village. It was in disrepair; Ziret had probably not seen an attack in a very long time. They crossed the rise and passed a group of warders to enter the streets of Ziret. Arnough directed the oxen to a small warehouse that smelled of spilt beer. Then he directed Darvian and Captain Eldun to the single inn serving the town. Like Mascen, Ziret was full of empty buildings, but at least they were not left to rot. The three of them settled into small but clean rooms then gathered at a table for an afternoon of drinking, eating, and letting their sore feet rest.

Although Arnough paid, Darvian did not let the costs go unnoticed. Sure enough, mugs of ale were a couple coppers less than he was used to paying. Apart from his guardsmen, Eldun was reasonably friendly. They shared a few laughs about their travels together. Of course a couple of the guards showed up for awhile after taking care of the oxen and conversations with Darvian were set aside. There were a few others patronizing the place. Older rustics and young armed men wearing styled sashes identifying them as Ziret’s watchmen.

Although the people were not overly friendly, the ambiance of the place was much more relaxed than that of any of the places Darvian had been to during his journey with Arnough. He smiled and enjoyed the drink. Their guards left and Eldun invited Darvian to play a game of darts.

Darvian eagerly accepted Eldun's invitation to play a game of darts. Feeling lonely he was pleased that next to Arnough a second person now might be on speaking terms with him. He knew that Eldun would turn a cold shoulder on him again as soon as the subordinate guards would show up, but for the moment he didn't care. Darvian was quite a good dart player. He had a steady hand and a keen eye. However, he was no match for the mastery demonstrated by Eldun. Eldun seemed to be toying with Darvian, letting him win a game or two and then offered to play for small wagers. Darvian knew that he would lose a few coins but readily agreed. The game broke the late afternoon ice, and soon there was a tournament going on. The games were never dull or one-sided. Darvian had his chances, even won the odd game with some luck and his spirit rose considerably. Fortunately also Eldun seemed to be more interested in having a friendly game rather than attempting to ruin his opponent. Thus when the smells from the kitchen sent everyone back to their tables for supper only a few coppers had changed hands. Both men sat down and enjoyed their dinner and watched as more folks came in from street after the dinner bell announced its readiness.

Then four people walked into the barroom from the hall to the private rooms. Darvian had not seen them come in. There was a brief silence as they found their way to a free table toward the back. It was not just that must have been in their rooms all afternoon unbeknownst, but they were most strangely garbed. They were two women and two men all wearing travelling cloaks. However, the women wore nothing but blackened articles and one of the men wore nothing but red. Belts, leggings, everything was dyed. The other man who followed behind wore studded leather armor and a blade at his side. Darvian noticed as they passed that the two black garbed women were very young and very pale, as was the red man. The other man was older and tough looking; probably a hired man. Darvian followed the people with his eyes and tried to make eye contact with the young women, but failed to do so.

Looking at Arnough Darvian's eyes asked the unspoken question whether the merchant might know something about this group of strangers. Arnough’s expression answered negatively. A couple locals got up and left soon after the strangers took their seats obviously displeased with their proximity. Every so often, Darvian noticed the patrons, including himself, would look over at the group only to find them sitting and eating in silence.

As the tables were being cleared, another quartet of two men and two women came in from outside. All four wore sashes identifying themselves as devotees to some god or religious sect. Darvian had seen such a sash on a traveler many years ago. No one had paid any attention to him and he went away. "Brigantia," Arnough commented quietly. The women wore simple robes under their heavy cloaks. They pushed back their hoods revealing that one was much younger. The two men came in behind the ladies. The first was an average bearded man with a crossbow and axe dangling from hardened leather armor. The second man was big and menacing. He glared across the patronage meeting their stares one by one, removing any smiles the women produced. He slung his arms from beneath his cloak and revealed his chain mail and massive maces as if threatening anyone to make a move.

Darvian leaned in and asked Arnough quietly, "Brigantia?"

The merchant looked at him and said, "cow goddess" somewhat disrespectfully. "Patron of farmers," he added noting Darvian’s genuine curiosity.

The innkeeper greeted the older, gentle looking woman and offered accommodation. Money changed hands and they found a table that was quickly covered with food and drink. The group was approached as they ate by a curious guard who shyly asked if they were indeed priestesses of Brigantia. He welcomed them graciously and hoped they would bless their town. The older woman assured him that she would bring the favor of the goddess to Ziret, and she hoped that he would keep her safe.

The four finished their meal and the two women went to their rooms. The atmosphere lightened considerably. The guard returned to speak to the two men. He was interested in where they had come from. The one with the beard mentioned that he had come from Beir to find this bar much livelier. The guard laughed and said that no place is livelier than Ziret where the finest brew is made.

They spoke quietly for a moment probably about the four sulking in the back by the guard’s furtive glanced at them.

The bearded man toasted loudly, "To Ziret and its good-looking women who don’t spook the strangers!" His companion sat stoically.

The other guards joined them and shared several more rounds. It was not long before they were singing drinking songs like old friends. At some point the boisterous man, Darvian picked up that his name was Brian, boasted of his companion Storn’s battle prowess and told an amazing story of getting ambushed by gnolls. The young guards were quite rapt with the story as was Darvian, and apparently his companions since they were not making any noise of their own.

While lending an ear to their conversation, Darvian felt like going closer and listening, but he didn't really dare to leave the table. Looking at his companions he wondered whether either of the two would make a move to join the story-teller, but they did not. Awhile into the story Brian told a piece about a mage using light flashes to blind his foes. Trying to hide his excitement Darvian gathered all his courage, picked up his mug of dark ale and join the crowd gathering around Brian. He felt like asking a few questions, but didn't dare to interrupt the story or attract some unwanted attention by his interest in magic. Thus he silently followed the story till the end.

When Brian invited everybody surrounding him to spin more tales, the locals complained that the only excitement they had was scaring away bears, and even then the Watchers usually kept those away as well. Darvian, surprisingly bold, stepped closer and announced that he too had "a tale of battle still fresh in his mind." He told of how the merchant he accompanied, indicating the two men sitting across the room with a nod, was stalked by a pack of hobgoblins as they came west from the distant hamlet of Harlock. Apparently quite skilled with words he told of the fierce red eyes of the hobgoblins as the encircled the caravan in the early pre-dawn darkness. He mimicked their blood curling war cry then told of how the foul smelling beasts rushed in only to be repulsed by Eldun and his heroic guards. Overwhelmed, they were doomed except for the last minute rescue by the villagers of Harlock who rained arrows into their ranks.

Brian said to the man, "I see that you have had more than your share of troubles in getting here. You know then how dangerous it is to travel to these parts. It seems any stranger would have to fight through hordes of monsters to get to Bilcoven. I wonder what brought those folks in red and black garb here. Do you know anything of them? Rough types, I would guess."

"Rough?" Darvian asked with a tinge of surprise in his voice, "They look rather pale to me. I have never seen the likes before, but they obviously stick to themselves and don't fancy a few friendly words with strangers. By the way, that reminds me, my name is Darvian." Darvian extended his hand to Brian, Storn and anybody else close by willing to shake it.

Shaking Darvian's hand heartily, Brian offered, "It is good to make friends among fellow travelers. Perhaps we will share the same road for a while. I hope the goods your merchant boss carries are valuable enough to warrant such a journey. My boss does right well I think, though I am not privy to all his dealings. What is the nature of your merchant's trade? The merchant I traveled with has two of biggest, heaviest wagons you'll ever see. Four oxen it takes to pull each one! And then slower than you can walk. From what I saw it was worked metal goods."

Darvian was obviously happy that a vivid conversation was going on. He beamed at Brian as the latter asked him about his merchant's trade. The answer flowed out of Darvian like beer would flow out of a freshly tapped barrel. "My boss is a jack-of-all-trades. He will sell whatever your heart desires. Be it a silk handkerchief as a present for your wife or a new plough for your farming cousin. And should he not have a peculiar item on stock he will jot it down and deliver it next time his cart travels around your spot of the world. A few days ago we sold some skinning knifes to a group of hunters and from the amount of money that changed hands I guess he is making a profit. Has to be, or he would not hire so many men to guard his cart. But," and Darvian flashed another smile at Brian, "I am surprised to learn that you are also a merchant's guard. I thought that you would be guarding the two ladies you ate dinner with. Or are they travelling with your merchant as well?"

Brian explained, "The two fine women I accompany are my primary concern. They are priestesses of Brigantia, and I am a pilgrim travelling with them. That is why, as my merchant boss is out doing business in another town, I am accompanying these two to spread the word and share our faith with the people of the Marchy. Storn and I protect the women, but by happy coincidence we were also paid to help guard the caravan as far as Bilcoven Town. The older priestess, Linda, is leading our missionary work. The younger one is Mellody, who I have been courting during the journey. You will not find a prettier or kinder initiate anywhere. I propose a toast to the gentle priestesses of Brigantia, may their work bring hope and health to all the villages!"

The party including the folks in red and black rose and headed back to their rooms. Brian greeted them with a drunken but friendly greeting, "Fellow travelers, parting so soon. Come join us in our tale spinning; you look like you may have a few." He reached curiously for the dyed scabbard hanging from the red man.

His hand was quickly slapped away by the armored man. "We’re off to bed," he said curtly.

"But…" Brian started but did not finish as the four continued out of the room ignoring him. Brian made a humorous face mocking their snobbery and elicited a hearty laugh that spread to the other patrons, except Storn.

"As I said," remarked Darvian when they had gone.

Storn said to Brian, "Tis late."

"Ah yes. I must rise early for prayers, and I have already drunk enough that my head will be cloudy next morning. I will talk to you again after Linda has revealed her plans to me." Swigging the last of the drink in his hand and throwing down a coin for the server, Brian apologized, "If you will excuse me, my good men, I must be off to bed now. It was a pleasure to meet you all."

The activity prompted a general exodus from the place. Arnough and Darvian went to their rooms; Eldun to the warehouse with his guards. "An interesting trade we ply," Arnough stated as they entered their rooms. Darvian read by candlelight awhile before letting sleep come. He slept soundly this first night in the Marchy, despite the rumors he had heard of how unwelcoming the Bilcovs could be.
 

[5.1a] The Sale, Tir

The caravan was assembled in the morning. Several barrels of wine had been added to the wagonload. The road meandered through the serene rolling hills around Sola. Toward midday the wooded hills became quite steep. It was as hard going up as coming down the long sloping stretches of road. Later, the terrain gave way to relatively level wooded plain.

Along the way, Sleene often walked by the side of the road, sometimes on the road, sometimes in the fringes of the forest, quickly gathering what grains and herbs she needed and had time for. Although her wolves quietly shadowed the caravan, Sirilyr's dog Feint often announced their presence with a few barks and growls as he walked along next to the ranger. Sleene tried to encourage the wolves to go off and hunt, but they were never far off.

Sleene also spent time walking near or riding with Spencer and Pradereus asking questions of how he would work out maps of the areas through which they were passing and pointing out what she saw in the way of interesting or unusual items. The two of them often took off into the woods to climb some hill or tree and get a better perspectice on the terrain. She used these points to begin to introduce the concept of balance in Nature to Spencer.

At one point Sleene approached Georan and walked silently alongside him for a few minutes observing him, making him a bit flustered. He had never really spent time around girls, and certainly not any as pretty as Sleene. After a bit Sleene said to him, "Spencer finds us alike and perhaps a bit mad. I think he is skeptical of what we do but, unlike most skeptics, he is not hostile."

Georan raised an eyebrow, "Hostile? I'm sure you'll stop thinking that as soon as you do something that looks 'flashy'. Then you'll be spending long hours trying to explain to him the nature of your arts and the hows and whys of it." Georan grinned remembering his long futile conversations with Spencer.

Hearing his name, Spencer turned his head, but his attention was met only by the grin on Georan's face. Frowning slightly as he turned back, Spencer veered off to ascend a slope which lead to a cliff overlooking the path ahead.

Sleene laughed, surprising Georan. "Flashy? No, I'll leave flashy to your path. If I ever do something, "flashy", I really don't think anybody is going to want to be around me." She chuckled a moment at the thought before continuing, "I have already offered to try to teach Spencer of my ways in exchange for some of his knowledge. There may yet be hope for him."

As the sun approached the horizon, the nearby bleating of sheep announced the caravan's proximity to the infamous village of Tir. Closer still, a more noisome indication was a foul smell to the air, a smell of badly prepared leather. Unfortunately the smell permeated the village, barely more than a hamlet, that for some reason sat in a small bowl valley. A square tower rose from the center row of the village. Aside from that were two other large buildings surrounded a handful of huts and poorly made structures.

"Bah," Spencer groaned upon detecting the odor. "Whence comes that stench?" He complained of it repeatedly, wondering aloud how these people can live with it, what incompetent oaf created the smell, etc. To make matters worse, the warehouse, too small for the wagons, reeked as well. "For gods’ sake, it smells like rotten death!"

Georan smiled at Spencer's comments and said, "Habit. They get used to it. It's not that hard and I'm sure some alchemical experiments I can brew up will be able to produce a much worse stench." with a wink he added, "If you're interested I can give it a try." This elicited a sarcastic, angry look that Spencer did not even bother to direct at Georan.

"I can't sleep in here," Kort stated as the doors were opened. There were a few piles, bushels really, of pelts. Rolls of leather leaned to and fro here and there.

The young boy that unlocked the place said, "Ain't got an inn. Most folks camp aside there, 'cept in winter."

"What a hole," Spencer remarked.

"I don't think I can sleep in this village," Sleene said also looking uncomfortable.

"I'd rather get out of here, myself," Spencer replied. "But we've little choice; people go into the woods about here and don't come back. They've even sent for help from the March. Best to travel in numbers in the daylight." Then he had an idea; he looked around the nearby high ground for a place that might be free of the stench. The slopes were dotted with sheep; there were bound to be shepherds’ campsites around. "We can probably find a place to watch over this whole place."

"I'll start a fire," Karod offered. "Kid, where 'kin I get some wood?"

"Woodcutter's probably at the bar," he said handing the key to Durrant and pointing to a large tavern.

Durrant announced, "Come we all need a drink anyway. Cee, could you start a meal? I'm afraid of what the food 'round here would taste."

The Skin of the Rabbit was filled with animals. A prolific taxidermist lived in Tir and his work populated the tavern. On every table a stuffed creature served as centerpiece, candleholder, or other decoration. Upon the walls were hung heads of everything from raccoons, wolves, deer, and other forest animals. Even throughout the rafters preserved animals sat in silent observance. From the corner a huge black bear reared over the patrons with a perpetual silent roar.

The woodcutter was indeed in the tavern with other dour patrons quietly sipping drinks. He grumbled, insisted on finishing his ale, then lead Karod, Durrant, and Dolan town the road to his cords of wood. They returned with armfuls of split logs and built a fire in the oft used pit next to the warehouse. Wendell and Stellan returned from the stables and the group went to have a drink. Sleene stayed with Cecilia while she prepared a spicy meal. Kort grumbled as he watched over them about how "jus' one complaint" and he pulls first shift.

When the chickens were roasted, Sleene, obviously repulsed by the décor, retrieved the men from inside where the smells of smoke and warm beer dominated. But, even the aromatic meal Cecelia prepared failed to allay the odor for long. "A whole day and two nights we have to spend here," Spencer observed. "How are we going to get this reek out of our clothing? Disgusting."

"If you find it that bad I could try gathering some aromatic herbs to burn

in here," Georan offered thinking it might not be such a bad idea.

"Do what you will," Spencer said, not able to think of any solution that could possibly allay the smell. "It won't help."

"Or perhaps just a much larger fire," Sleene grumbled, her mood having darkened considerably as they approached town until it was truly foul now. "It may smell worse for a bit but in the long run..."

Sirilyr, settled down by one of the large wagons and shared his bowl heaped with chicken, potatoes and leeks with the ever present Feint. The healing of his leg and the days walk had left him famished. He wasn't satisfied until he had been back to the beaming matronly cook for a third helping. "Hey, now! I'll share, but leave me a bit o' that." He gently rebuked the rawboned hound as he watched him help himself to a few sups of his tankard of ale. Sirilyr reached over and scratched the beast's ears as it raised its head to the sounds of his voice. The sound of breaking wind accompanied a curious look back at it's own tail. Sirilyr wrinkled his nose and waved his hand as the new odor overpowered even the obnoxious smell of the tannery. "Whew Lad! I'm thinkin' ye'd best go an be a taken care o' that 'fore you come to bed," pointing a gloved hand to the nearby treeline. Grabbing his bow and quiver, the ranger left his shield with his bedroll and haversack before walking over to Durrant.

"How's the leg?" His Captain inquired as the young woodsman came up to him.

"Fine, needs a bit more work though. Thank you for the potion, it did the job. I've got a mind to take a little scout around the village here 'fore night falls. I want to check out the truth of some o' what those hunters in the last town tol' us." Frowning at the smell emanating from the barn turned warehouse, "an find a decent place to sleep upwind o' that cesspit!" Going on in a lower voice, "I also am thinkin' that if I wanted to attack this caravan, I'd do it here. Where the stink covers my approach from animals, an the guards are likely to be more interested in gettin' away from the smell through drink or absence than keepin' watch." Hefting the quiver on to his shoulder, he headed towards the woods with a parting, "I'll be back in an hour or two. I look for a spot up out’a the smell for you ladies," Sirilyr said with a smile toward Spencer and Sleene. "For meself too."

"Tell ya what. We’ll keep one guard on duty here, and one overlooking the place," Jack said. "Kort, Karod, you sleep here with me tonight; Dolan, Sirilyr, you’re here tomorrow with the boss. ‘Til midnight, Kort here, Dolan on the hill. ‘Til dawn, Karod here, Sirilyr on the hill. Switch tomorrow." To the rest, "Don’t get too far."

"I’ve got to get some food for my friends," Sleene announced. "I’ll go look."

"I’ll come with on my way out," Sirilyr offered. "If you don’t find anything I’ll keep an eye out for them," he said patting his bow. They walked down the row toward the tannery.

There was nothing freshly killed in Tir. Hunters not returning were taking its toll on the village’s produce. The best offer she got was to buy a sheep. "I’ll keep a lookout for a rabbit or something for the wolves," Sirilyr promised.

"Would you like some company?" she asked.

Sirilyr looked at her moment, finally and with reluctance he replied, "Best not. I’ll be doin’ a bit of sneakin’; makin’ sure w’re not followed by that gobbo vermin. Otherwise, I'd very much like your company m'Lady." He flashed her a small sad smile.

Sleene, although worried about her friends, showed confidence in Sirilyr and figured that she could buy the sheep for Nip and Snap the next day. Sirilyr and Sleene parted ways; she reluctantly to the horrid tavern where the others were spending the last few hours of daylight. She had obviously been in the place before and just as obviously wished she had not returned. Sleene asked Spencer to move the centerpiece elsewhere; he slid the stiff squirrel it to the other end of the table where Dolan stared at it cross-eyed. As expected, the folks of Dir were in ill moods. Even Talon admitted the failure of his usually spirit-lifting antics.

Spencer looking thoughtful all evening asked Durrant, "Does it strike you as odd that Sola should be doing so well for itself, despite the problems plaguing the rest of the Marchy? You'd think they would rely on trade more than any of the other towns, given that one of its main crops is wine-grapes."

"There’s a product with a n’re ending market," Durrant said sipping a Solanese spirit. "Everything about this forsaken place is odd," Durrant concluded. "The Mayor there is an orderly guy, I imagine his hardships are carefully concealed."

"They’ve been nothing but nice to me in Sola," Sleene added defensively. "Even stayed in his mansion once."

Looking at Sleene, "Hmm...Perhaps it's not hardship that's being concealed," said Spencer. Turning to Durrant, "You can't disguise famine. Sola's small, yet it thrives. Its shopkeeps do well; the people are happy. The rest of the Marchy we've seen or heard of about is miserable. Bilcoven, Tir, Dir, all in shambles. Makes no sense...The bandits should have hit Sola hardest - all things being equal, that is."

"It’s been several years. Perhaps they’ve recovered quicker for the attention their produce," Durrant posed.
 

[5.1b] Sirilyr in Tir

From the northerly road to Ziret, Sirilyr wound his way westward around the copse dotted slopes surrounding the cluster of hovels that was Tir. He came upon many of the village’s scraggly sheep, and surprised an unwary shepherd. The boy, once calmed from his fright, shared with Sirilyr his favorite spot for staying the night. It was a clearing behind a boulder excellent for watching over the entire valley’s southeasterly spread. Taking his leave of the shepherd, one of four always about the rim, Sirilyr blended back into the deepening shadows and resumed his circuit careful to avoid the others.

No sign of game or spy was made on the hill. A pang of pity set upon the ranger when he came upon the sleeping wolves beyond the southerly slope. He watched them for awhile from the distance. They were in need of food, and these depleted woods were not providing. Sirilyr silently made his way passed them and crossed the south road back to Sola. The eastern rim was more of the same, but the wind blew from the west wafting the horrible smell up the slope.

Sirilyr came upon a well-worn path leading east into the woods. It climbed the slope from the village where Sirilyr could see it came from a ring of benches common to a druidic shrine. As he looked, a flash in the western sky drew his eye to the sunset, a beautifully chaotic panorama of red and gray. The sun had fallen behind a turbulent band of towering clouds. Periodic flashes within forebode of a storm coming.

The ranger followed the path, hoping it would lead to the oft-shunned burial ground. But the trail lead on through the woods until Sirilyr became worried. He turned back to complete the circuit of the village before total darkness. As it was, the lighted was fading fast and there was very little of a waning moon to be seen. In the northeast corner of the valley, there was a large cistern of water just outside the mouth of a cavern. Two figures with torches stood there. In the flickering orange light Sirilyr could make out steps hewn into the rock leading into the cavern.

Sirilyr moved on unseen to until he again came to the northern road. He observed the men at the cistern moving back toward the village as well. He hung back and watched them enter the tower. Sirilyr rejoined the others at the tavern.
 

[5.1c] Spencer in Tir

Spencer pushed back from the table after an awkward silence. "I’ve had enough of this place. I’ll catch up." He left the tavern. The tavern was on the east side at the south end of the cluster of buildings that formed Tir. Across the road was a row of shops extending north and south from the square stone tower. The road widened at the north end of the row around the village well. Spencer walked north up the east side of the road. Next to the tavern was a fenced in home, obviously victim of many, many unplanned expansions. A series of smaller homes and workshops followed, including the woodcutters. The large building at the end was the tannery; its yard was filled with unpleasant debris and rusted tools. The doors and shutters were closed.

A path lead between the tannery and the workshops, leading to another large warehouse looking structure also closed up except for a light coming from a back window. It was the furrier’s. The path continued on into a field; in the evening twilight Spencer could make out a stone cistern just before the surrounding hills rose up. The dark mouth of a cave opened beyond the cistern. Seeing nothing else around, Spencer went back and crossed to the other side of the road.

Not all of the spaces were occupied along the row. They had the basics covered though. A path lead from the north end of the row to a maze of hovels. Decrepit thatch roofed dwellings mostly. Most had tendrils of smoke rising from them; some just sat empty and dark. Spencer walked down the well-packed dirt street. He saw few people; throwing out slop, securing shutters, talking to each other. They watched Spencer warily. Flashes in the western sky warned of a storm.

Spencer did not wander into the back streets. He kept the tower row on his left. Behind the stables where Pradareus was probably sleeping peacefully, was a large fenced yard with many penned animals. Off to the right the path lead to the village’s crop lands. A gust of cool wind washed away the odor for a moment. Spencer took the path to the edge of the shadowy twilit field and watched the wind blown trees along the surrounding hills cast their dry leaves swirling darkly through the air.

Spencer lost track of time as he breathed the fresh air of the more and more frequent and strong wind gusts. The sky had lost all light leaving only the glow of stars and the waning crescent moon. A sudden lull reminded him to resume his meandering. He walked back passed the corral and looked in on the resting Pradareus. Hopefully Sirilyr found them a camp, thought Spencer as he stood near enough to the animals that their living scents overwhelmed the dead smell of Tir. He stepped back out of the barn and looked across at the tavern.

A man was walking down the east side of the street. Motionless, Spencer watched him enter the tavern. A distant thunder rumbled lowly across the village, followed by a strangely uniform round of baying from the sheep in the surrounding hills. It was indeed a disturbing place. Spencer approached the tavern.

Sirilyr came through the door of the Rabbit leading a gust of wind, "Greetings all. I have news," he said lowly to the gathering. "There's a spot overlooking the entire area nearby and well protected. It would be a run to help those on guard though. I suggest we set a trouble signal, such as a torch waved three times." Turning towards the young Druidess, "Lady Sleene, I am sorry, there is NO game to be had for miles about. These louts have no concept of animal husbandry. They take all an give nothin' back." He spat sourly, "Perhaps a sheep could be purchased for your friends. I saw them bedded down in a thicket. They are very hungry I think, and should be fed to avoid an 'accident' with the flocks."

"It would serve them right," Sleene fairly spat in reply, the frustration at this awful place finally catching up with her. "The entire settlement should be burned to the ground." Calming herself for a moment, she thought and reached a decision. Sleene looked around the tavern for Ingend, who owned most of the flocks. He was not there tonight. Spying Elgend, one of his shepherd sons, she went to him and asked about getting a sheep tonight.

He smiled at her warmly and told her he would take her word, she could pay Ingend what he wanted in the morning. "I’d be a few gold," he warned, "times are tough." She agreed. He asked if it was for the wolves that she spoke of so much when she was last there. She nodded. "Pick one from the hills, but let a shepherd see it." She sat back down.

Waving to the serving wench, "Ale lass, a large one if ye please." Sighing, he said to Durrant, "Thar's four shepard boys, one each watchin' at all four o' the winds. And a abandoned druidic temple close to the east of here. Something else, to the north-east jus' under the top o' the ridge is a large cistern. Next to the cistern I crept up on two armed guards at the entrance to a stone stepped cavern. When it got dark they both came back here into the town. I followed 'em in." He went quiet as the serving wench brought his ale. When she left he continued, "Ta make matters worse, thar be a bad autumn storm blowing in hard and fast from the west. We're gonna get wet." Casting a knowing squinted eye glance to Jack as he filled his weathered old pipe, "Jack, there is a path to a burial ground around here as well; I didn'a find it, it must be a-ways back in the wood." Downing half his tankard in a swallow, "I think we may have a wee bit o' wanderin' to do here Cap'n. But, we best do it quickly an in numbers. I don' like the feel o' this place, somethin' is not out in the open 'bout it. What say you?"

"A most unusual place," Durrant agreed. "I’m sure we can spare some of you tomorrow for some discrete inquiries."

Sleene looking unhappy said, "The temple isn’t abandoned, just rarely used. That cistern’s a relic. They used to fill it from an underground lake. The cave. But they’ve got a well now. All the villages share a burial ground; its in the middle of the ring." She looked curiously at the ranger, "What would interest you there?

Taking another long swallow from his drink, Sirilyr answered, "Why, an interest in history M'Lady. Jack an I share a deep curiosity of the subject." He said very truthfully tapping down his pipe to settle the herb. "Perhaps one day you could show me some o' the ancient elven sites still known? I would like that." He continued evenly.

Sleene considered him a moment before nodding and saying, "Perhaps, if time permits."

"Did they look like the mayor's men or mercenaries?" Georan queried, looking around as he asked, "Are they here now?"

"Nay, went into the tower. Didna’ get a good enough look to see if they were uniformed," Sirilyr answered.

"The tower is the Guard house, and the Watchers’ post." Sleene informed them.

"Then they were guard men. 'Though that is the strangest method o' guardin' A'yve ever seen, guardin' all day jus' to leave the post unprotected at night. Very strange." Exhaling a long bluish plume of smoke, he posed, "While the five watchers back in Sola wern't lying about the lack o' game, I have a suspicion they be hidin' somethin' from Geo an' I. They were secretive and I canno' help but feel 'bout them the way I feel 'bout a bandit band. I wonder if they were associated with, or are, the bandits some o' us have heard rumors 'bout?" Sirilyr looked pointedly to Durrant and Jack as he finished his ale.

The door was thrown open and a chill wind swirled into the bar making the candlelight flicker. A man strode in clutching his fur cloak about his neck. He impatiently slammed the door against the gust. A murmur from about half the local patrons greeted the man as he slung the cloak off and hung it on an antler peg. He was dressing in nice, but well worn, clothing. He proceeded to a stool at the bar where he was handed wooden mug. He drank deeply then sat sullenly stroking the rabbit next to him. "Orinden," Sleene muttered to her companions, "the furrier. And taxidermist," she said with a disgusted look at their table’s decorative squirrel.

Sighing, Sirilyr said to Durrant, "Cap'n, if you'll 'scuse me, I'll go an get some canvas from one o' the wagons to set up a shelter from the rain for us at the sleepin' site. I'll cover it o're with brush an grass 'n get a small fire goin'. We'll be a needin' it shortly. I also wan'na get my gear up there 'fore I go on watch." Looking to the Lady Sleene, who was glowering at the unknowing furrier, he proffered, "Care to come along M'Lady? I'm sure Feint would enjoy havin' a less gruff voice aroun' fer a while as I'm settin' the camp to rights." He chuckled with a deep and mellow sound as he thought of the playful young hound. "I'll likely be up through the storm tonight, so's I'd 'ppreciate yore company too, if ye care to get out o' this place." He said, returning the stares of all the glass eyes surrounding them in the tavern. Sleene agreed eagerly.

"I’ll come along too," Dolan announced. "Had ‘bout enough these creatures watchin’ me." He gave a mean look to the squirrel.

Georan, Durrant, and Karod stayed awhile longer. Orinden, after finishing a drink, went to speak quietly to some other patrons. When they finished he walked to another table and told them loud enough for the whole place to hear, "We can’t wait who knows how many days for help. We must act now. I will go; we cannot send children to what men, and leaders, should do! Tomorrow we rouse the villagers." His target did not respond, nor did Orinden wait for him to before walking away and leaving the tavern.

They went to the warehouse to prepare for the night. Jack had set up a large tent beside the building. Cecilia had lit some aromatic candles, and boiled some spiced water. It did not do much. Georan helped her mixture with some herbs of his own. But for the most part, they just ignored the smell. The storm front rolled through a few hours after they bedded down. Hard rain and wind rattled the warehouse, and thunder and lightning flashes disturbed their sleep, but did not prevent it.

Spencer had met the others crossing the street toward the tavern. He was scowling at the foul air. "I was hoping you’d be back," Spencer told Sirilyr. "Have we got a campsite away from this smell?" Sirilyr smiled and bid him to come along. They gathered the tents and other gear they needed and headed off into the chill breeze. Sirilyr pointed to the northwest and Spencer after retrieving Pradareus, lead them behind the warehouse and stable to a cart path that lead to the fallow autumn fields by the cluster of huts and hovels that housed most of the villagers.

"It’s down from the crest a bit, some protection from the wind anyway," Sirilyr called as the frequent gusts buffeted them. He found a trail that the shepherds had worn leading to the spot.

On the way Sleene watched the flashes in the distant clouds. "They bring no snow at least," she told her companions. The campsite rested in a hollow on the hillside, trees protected it from the west winds. Dry leaves rattled in the branches above, then flew off like bats. They prepared the tents for the worst. The shepherd came to them as they worked, he recognized Sleene and seemed to be less ill at ease. When Sleene finished with her tent, she talked to the boy and he reluctantly retrieved a sheep for her.

When the boy returned with the sheep, Sleene smiled at him and thanked him. She then lead the sheep a short distance away and tied the sheep to a nearby tree. She called loudly, cupping her hands around her mouth to direct her call to where Sirilyr indicated he saw the wolves, "Nip! Snap! NNNIIIIIPPPP! SSSSNNNNNNAAAAAAPP!" She then waited awhile with the others listening carefully for any sign of her friends. They finally showed up announced by Feint’s yelping and followed by a frightened shepherd.

The excited boy was quite surprised, and Sleene whisked them away from him while the others explained the situation and Sirilyr calmed the mutt. The wolves panted and groaned in anticipation when they approached the frightened sheep with Sleene. She pet them, calming them and dreading what must come next. She trained them to avoid farm animals, and long ago worked out a method of letting them how to know that a certain animal was for them. Commanding them to stay, she retrieved produced a small dagger. The wolves eyed Sleene anxiously, drooling and whining, as she approached the sheep.

Sleene steeled herself and grasped the sheep firmly then made a cut in the sheep's flank. It squealed and bucked away, snagging itself sharply on the leash. Sleene backed away and gestured to the wolves that it was okay for them to eat this animal. They immediately leaped upon it. It screamed loudly then was silent as its throat was crushed. Sleene watched them start to feed, before turning away and returning to camp. She was surprised to see a small audience looking on with mixed emotions at the bloody scene. She did not speak to them as she walked passed.

She sat in the dim firelight and cleaned the knife before returning it to the bottom of her pack. She then checked her tent and her other items, repairing a few minor flaws. The others prepared for sleep as well. Sleene lay awake in her tent. Then, suddenly remembering the earlier exchange about Sirilyr's injury and feeling that she should repay him in some way for at least trying to find food for her friends, Sleene got up, grabbed her medical pouches, and went to Sirilyr. "Let me see that leg," she said. Sleene examined the healing wound. It had closed, but was still purple and tender. She mixed and applied a poultice and fixed the bandage over and around the wound. Surprisingly his leg was well along the way to recovery.

She returned to her tent as the wolves finished. They approached her tent and laid down. Feint was growling from somewhere, but quieted at Sirilyr’s unheard insistence. Glad they had eaten Sleene relaxed. She crawled into the tent and laid down herself. The weather deteriorated rapidly as she tried to sleep. Drops of rain flew on the wind and snapped upon the tent canvas. Sleene called the wolves into the tent

Buffeting wind, crashing lightning, and flapping tents hindered sleep. The rain had become steady when Dolan opened the tent and nudged Sirilyr awake. The ranger grudgingly emerged from the somewhat dry shelter into the storm. He made his way to the boulder that overlooked the valley. He peered into the wet darkness. Flashes of lightning illuminated the stormy landscape in strobing black and white. He huddled under his cloak and made a routine patrol of the area, including calming Spencer’s nervous horse. Motion caught his eye by the sheep carcass, but nothing was there when he approached.

Eventually, Sirilyr found a place to stay still and watch the storm roll by. It was a dreary night of bleak thoughts of impending dangers. So many mysteries, so many mortal consequences. Sirilyr could not help but keep glancing at the nearby trees expecting some fearsome snarling creature to dash out at him. Nothing did, but the feeling that all around the night housed creatures of hatred never left him. He jumped when a flash of lightning revealed a horrid leering creature watching him from the branches about. But there was nothing there a moment later. His tired imagination was running wild on him. The scare served to keep him on edge until the dawn turned the black clouds gray and still it rained.